Adrian
“Why is the door locked?” Aurelia asks, standing barefoot in the hallway with her arms crossed like she’s already prepared to argue her case in court.
I don’t flinch, even though it’s the third time she’s tested the handle in under an hour. “Because locked doors make people knock,” I answer, checking the bolt anyway. “And people who knock give us time.”
She squints at me, dark eyes sharp with suspicion. “Mama never locks that one during the day.”
“Mama isn’t here right now,” I say gently, not apologetic. “And today has different rules.”
She opens her mouth, then closes it again, recalibrating. “Temporary rules,” she says finally.
“Yes,” I agree. “But still rules.”
She nods once, slow and deliberate, then pads past me toward the kitchen. “Fine. But I don’t like the eggs.”
“You didn’t yesterday either,” I reply, following her. “And yet you ate them.”
“They were shaped wrong,” she says, climbing onto the stool. “Mama burns them on the edges. Yours are too neat.”
Leonel sits quietly at the table, hands folded around a glass of milk he hasn’t touched. His eyes flick up to me when I set the pan down, watching the way I place things, how I angle my body so the door stays in my peripheral vision.
“You didn’t ask me what I wanted,” Aurelia says, chin lifting as she surveys the plate in front of her.
I meet her gaze calmly. “You didn’t ask where you were going.”
She considers that, lips pursed, then gives a single nod. “Fair.”
Leonel finally speaks, his voice small but steady. “Are we staying long?”
I don’t lie. “Long enough.”
He absorbs that without comment, eyes drifting back to the window. He notices everything, this one. The way I scan reflections. The way I pause before answering the phone. The way silence settles differently in this house now.
Later, as I walk them through the space again, Aurelia interrupts my explanation with questions no one ever teaches children to ask.
“Why do people stare when we go outside?”
“Because they’re afraid,” I answer.
“Of us?” she presses, almost hopeful.
“Of what they can’t control,” I say.
She smiles at that, bright and unafraid, like the idea pleases her. “Good.”
Leonel lingers near the door as I check it again that night. “You already locked it,” he says quietly.
“I know,” I reply, crouching to his level. “I’m making sure it stayed that way.”
He nods, filing that away. “Mama checks things twice too,” he offers.
I swallow and keep my voice even. “That’s because your mother is very smart.”
At bedtime, Aurelia refuses to get under the covers. She sprawls across the mattress like she’s daring the dark to challenge her.
“Is Mama fighting?” she asks bluntly.
“Yes,” I answer, standing by the door.
She props herself up on her elbows. “Is she winning?”
“She doesn’t lose,” I say.
Her grin is feral, proud. “Good.”
Leonel is quieter when I tuck him in, fingers worrying the edge of his blanket. He watches my face like he’s looking for cracks.
“Will Mama be mad?” he asks softly.
“No,” I say immediately, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“She didn’t cry,” he says. “But she looked… different.”
I take a breath before answering. “She’s carrying something heavy.”
He nods slowly. “I just don’t want her to forget us.”
The words hit harder than any threat ever could. I lean closer, lowering my voice. “She won’t. You’re the reason she breathes.”
He holds my gaze, then turns onto his side, clutching the pillow like it’s alive. He believes me. Or he chooses to.
As I turn off the light, Aurelia’s voice carries from the next room. “Adrian?”
“Yes?”
“If anyone tries to take us,” she says casually, “I’ll bite them.”
A laugh escapes me before I can stop it, sharp and surprised. “Let’s aim for running first.”
She hums thoughtfully. “Okay. But biting second.”
The house settles after that, the kind of quiet that feels earned rather than empty. I move through it methodically, checking doors, windows, shadows. I don’t feel tired. I feel precise.
In the hallway, I stop in front of the photograph I almost didn’t hang. Serafina holding Aurelia on her hip, Leonel laughing into her shoulder. Her face is soft there, unarmored, unaware of what the world would later demand of her.
That’s when the grief hits, sudden and heavy.
She told me once, years ago, voice stripped bare in the dark, “If I ever become him, I want someone to stop me.”
Her father. Ruthless. Distant. A man who called silence discipline and control protection. A man who believed love made you weak.
I press my palm to the wall, grounding myself. “You won’t,” I whisper. “Not while I’m standing.”
I think of how carefully she handed them over. Not as a transaction. As a trust. The hesitation wasn’t doubt. It was fear of getting the one thing she loves wrong.
Outside the children’s rooms, I pause, listening to their breathing. The house holds its breath with me.
I make the vow silently, not dramatic, not loud. A promise etched into muscle and bone.
They will not inherit fear disguised as strength. They will not learn distance as discipline. They will not confuse control with love.
Aurelia will keep her fire. Leonel will keep his softness.
And when Serafina comes back, she will find them still whole.